


Could Be Better

by SilverBlue



Series: States and Kingdom [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlue/pseuds/SilverBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt introduces the Boss to tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Be Better

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory fic no one asked for where the British guy is stereotypically British, set between SR 3 and 4.
> 
> This turned out to be much more sugary than intended and is probably about as sweet as licking your way through Mrs. Claus' barricade. I apologise in advance for any cavities developed during the consumption of this fic.
> 
> Final note: it's been a long, long time since I've written fic. Please be gentle with me ;)

Matt walked into his one bedroom flat in the early hours of the morning, the buzz from a 72-hour stint now dying down to a mellow hum, tiredness weighing him down with each step.  
  
It was the first available place he had moved into on his return to England and while the location and size was much to be desired, he hadn’t the time or energy to find somewhere half-decent once he started working. The very few pieces of furniture were mostly taken over by electronics and the kitchen he now headed for contained the bare essentials necessary to make tea, have cereal, and store biscuits.  
  
His mobile vibrated. Barely back five minutes and already people were demanding his presence. While this was unsurprising (naturally everyone would come to him, he _is_ a genius after all) just this once, he wished he could go about his nightly routine in peace and go to bed.  
  
His phone continued to vibrate as he fumbled for the dangling cord – even tugging it seemed a great feat – and the cabinet light blinked awake, illuminating the counter with a sleepy glow. He picked up the call, talking through the microphone on his wireless headphones.  
  
“What do you want Kensington?” He sounded more tired than thorny.  
  
“Have you seen the Boss anywhere?” he heard Kinzie stress. He filled up the kettle and switched it on.  
  
“Why yes, he’s just popped over for tea and biscuits.” He quickly rinsed the mug that had been abandoned in the sink – a Saints memorabilia he had collected before leaving the States.  
  
“He has?” She actually sounded hopeful and Matt had to take a moment to decide if she was joking.  
  
“You are aware that it’s currently two in the morning and the Boss is on the other side of the ocean? Your side of the ocean, in fact.”  
  
“Keep up with the news, he’s in London for government meetings, and I’m pretty sure I heard Pierce say he’s visiting the Queen.”  
  
How had he missed the announcement on the President’s visit to London?  
  
He shrugged it off.  
  
“I haven’t seen him, I haven’t heard from him, I’m not scheduled to meet him. I realise you’re not as proficient as I am but even you must be able to track his location through GPS?”  
  
“You think I haven’t tried?”  
  
He heard Kinzie talk rapidly to someone (a Saint no doubt) and hearing several raised voices in the background. He stared blankly at the kettle boiling.  
  
“When are you going to send the files?” He shook himself out of his daze when Kinzie’s attention returned to him.  
  
“I told you I was working on an important case,” he said. “Anyway, it’s only been—” he tried to remember their last conversation. One, two … oh. Nearly four weeks.  
  
The kettle switched itself off. Matt sighed, dropping a teabag into his mug and filling it with hot water. “You’ll get it soon.”  
  
“The Boss isn’t going to like the setback.”  
  
Matt’s ears perked up at the mention of the Boss, hands temporarily stilling. “He’s not?”  
  
“Do you even pay attention?”  
  
Matt pulled a spoon out from the drawer. “Unlike some people, I don’t actually have a lot of time on my hands,” – he pointed the spoon to an imaginary Kinzie – “I would like to see you try and handle the whole of England.” He weakly pressed the teabag and then pulled milk out from the fridge.  
  
“One tiny country, Matt, I manage the whole of the _States_.”  
  
Matt cried out in frustration, haphazardly pouring milk into his mug without bothering with colour or time taken for brewing, half dropping the plastic carton onto the tabletop and dumping three sugars into his tea. He stirred with furious clinks. Death by spoon, now there was an ingenious idea.  
  
“… Miller, are you drinking _tea_?”  
  
“What?” The clinks stopped, a large frown on his face as he heard what sounded like glee in Kinzie’s voice.  
  
“Oh this is just— you’re so typically _British_. I would have respected you more if you lived off sugar like normal people but … _tea_?” She started to laugh.  
  
“There’s sugar in my tea,” he said, keeping his tone neutral but only managed to set her off further.  
  
The thing was, he had been an avid tea drinker before his reign as cyber god – after all, what kind of cyber god drank _tea_? Or so he thought as he spent a good few of his teenage years rejecting the drink of the gods and replacing it with energy drinks and coffee and what was considered as drinks “his kind of people” drank, when really, it only gave him an extended bout of headaches and insomnia.  
  
He wasn’t proud of those years depriving his blood of tea and ignoring the primal needs embedded in his British genes.  
  
Once he started at MI6 however, he got offers left, right and centre (sometimes above depending on the agent), day and night, constantly hearing and dishing out complaints on being out of milk, making the tea run, and recalling the bible of the department everyone knew by heart – a large board of photographs where preferred colours and strengths for each worker had been meticulously pinned. Even Asha offered to brew him a cup when she stopped by his office and it became second nature for him to have a steaming mug ready when she returned from a mission. Now he was reliant on the glorious stuff and needed a constant top up.  
  
“Laugh all you like, but you’re the one unable to understand the sophistication of this wonderful beverage,” he sniffed.  
  
“That mine?”  
  
Matt shrieked and spun round to find the Boss standing a couple of feet behind.  
  
“Jesus—” He gulped down breaths, heart rate rocketing, panic temporarily shocking him awake.  
  
For a split second—  
  
He forced himself to remain calm.  
  
The Boss clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing gently in greeting and apology, leaning into the microphone; Matt could feel his breath.  
  
“No need to send a search party Kinzie, just checking in on Matt.”  
  
“Boss? Do you have any idea—”  
  
Matt tuned out Kinzie’s stream of chatter, staring at the man who had appeared out of nowhere.  
  
“Bye, Kinzie,” the Boss said, raising his eyebrows suggestively at Matt.  
  
“Uh, bye,” Matt followed and hung up, peeling the headphones off his head. “Why are you here? How do you even know where I live?”  
  
“Asked Asha.” He peered over Matt’s shoulder and reached for the mug – he did a double take and quirked an eyebrow at the familiar colour and symbol – and stole the first sip.  
  
The expression on the Boss’ face was almost criminal.  
  
“You like this stuff?”  
  
“This isn’t a real cup of tea, this is for me.” Matt snatched the tea out of the Boss’ hands, annoyed at the blasphemous comment and cradling the warm mug close to his chest. He turned to put the mug gently onto the counter, muttering to himself about how proper cups of tea should taste and making excuses on why he needed the weak, sugary tea. “Shouldn’t you be in a fancy hotel or did they chuck you out for gunning their receptionist?”  
  
“Room service.” A shiver ran down Matt’s spine. _Never underestimate what the Boss can do_. Fine, he may have been joking, but it was just as plausible he was telling the truth. Matt re-boiled the kettle and pulled another mug out from the cupboard. “Wanted to make sure my hacker wasn’t up to any trouble.”  
  
“You already have a hacker, I belong to MI6,” Matt reminded him (and that wasn’t bitterness in his voice) as he poured boiling water into the cup.  
  
“I keep you in MI6 so I know what’s going on this side of the world.”  
  
Those words sparked just a smidgen of pride inside his chest, lips curling into a smirk as his responsibility for one country instantly expanded to the EU, Commonwealth and more. _Take that, Kinzie,_ he thought.  
  
He immediately sobered.  
  
“Yes, and that’s why you didn’t bother telling us you were coming.” By ‘us’ he meant ‘me’ and now he was sounding like some hurt partner waiting for their lover to call. He squashed his feelings to the bottom of the mug with the teabag, the black liquid quickly consuming the clearness of the water.  
  
“Yeah, that.” There was a pause. “That might have something to do with a new phone I don’t know how to use.”  
  
Matt snorted. “I suppose we could excuse you and put it down to your lack of technological expertise.”  
  
Silence thickened the air as Matt stared down into the tea, stirring occasionally because it gave him something to do other than turn around and try to decipher the Boss’ expressions. Small talk; the British were renowned for conversing about trivial matters.  
  
“So how’s Presidency?” He asked, pulling a face at his weak attempt at conversation. It was perhaps a few notches above talking about the weather (and how _that_ had taken a turn for the worse when he last tried.)  
  
“Just the usual – everyone on my back before I even have a chance to fuck up and I’m pretty sure Kinzie’s plotting to take over, so you know, awesome.”  
  
“I could always hack into her system, see what she’s trying to—”  
  
“Matt, I’m kidding. No one’s trying to take over.” A brief hesitation. “Probably.”  
  
Matt squeezed the bag to drain the last drips of tea and threw it in the bin. He poured the milk in slowly while stirring so he could determine the perfect colour and purposefully left out the sugar (a proper cup wasn’t supposed to have sugar anyway), then offered it to the Boss, looking at him expectantly.  
  
If the Boss noticed the Deckers mug he made no comment, sniffing as though he had never seen the drink before in his life before he sipped with caution.  
  
“’s not coffee,” he grumbled.  
  
“Of course it’s not coffee, it’s tea!” Matt bit back the urge to add ‘you moron’.  
  
The Boss shrugged. “Could be better.”  
  
“Get out before I ring Asha to have you dragged out.”  
  
The Boss ignored him and walked out of the kitchen, Matt quickly grabbing his tea and following him into the main room.  
  
Three computer screens were cramped together on the desk with another unplugged and unused on the floor, leads snaking everywhere and all stretching out to the walls for any available power. The main source of light came from the electric blue Deckers screensavers but dots of red and blue and green glinted between gaps, hiding and watching.  
  
He had separated the studio with a dark, semi-transparent curtain to vaguely keep his workspace from his sleeping area. It was nothing fancy; only containing a large single bed and a small shelf overflowing with his Nyte Blayde collection, with the curtain doing nothing to stop the leads from peeking beneath the fabric and snaking their way across to more outlets. The window by his bed was draped in a thick curtain that blocked both sun and streetlamp.  
  
The Boss took the only available chair by the computer, sitting like he owned it, leaving Matt to shift some of the hardware off his low couch for space. The computer screens lit the Boss’ face in an eerie blue which Matt was briefly mesmerised by; his colour washed over the Boss’ skin and blue lips over the edge of the Decker skull made his heart jump awkwardly a few beats and he had to take a sip of tea to hide whatever embarrassing expression he must have had on his face.  
  
The tea was still at optimum temperature and he let out a happy sigh, closing his eyes.  
  
The shock in the kitchen had startled him briefly but now he was seated and sipping the magical golden liquid that warmed his muscles. He savoured the moment, the lull of sleep blanketing him even with the caffeine and added sugar, wishing to fall asleep right there. Instead he forced himself to open his eyes to find the Boss watching him. He averted his gaze and gulped down more tea.  
  
“I haven’t had a chance to look at the files but I’ll get on it once I’ve slept a bit, all right? I assume that’s why you’re here?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Boss said, “but sure. Heard from Asha you’ve been working on a tough case.”  
  
“Well, no rest from espionage. You know, I’m surprised you succeeded in getting Asha to reveal my whereabouts, she’s extremely careful about keeping sensitive information from others.”  
  
The Boss shrugged. “Besides the fact that I’m the _President of the United States_ ,” – Matt rolled his eyes – “and what I ask for, I get, we have a deal.” He downed the tea in the same way he downed coffee or beer. Hardly the proper drinking etiquette but the corners of Matt’s lips curled up in satisfaction behind his mug.  
  
Several more exchanges in pleasantries and Matt couldn’t stifle his yawns any longer. He stretched and pushed himself off the chair. “While I’d love to continue our chat, I really do have to shower and get some sleep. I have to start on whatever file Kinzie sent me to do for you and then god knows how long I’ll be in the office next.”  
  
“Don’t let me stop you from doing your thing,” the Boss said swivelling on the chair to face the computers. Matt’s body ran cold.  
  
“Please don’t touch anything.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You remember what happened—”  
  
“I was there.”  
  
“These specialised equipment require delicacy and I’m not sure—”  
  
“I fucking get it!”  
  
Matt stared at the Boss and the Boss glared back, daring him to come up with another comment. Matt sighed and shook his head before deciding to take a shower, praying to god that the Boss hadn’t destroyed everything when he came out.  
  
“Considering you managed to make your way here, I trust you can make your way out,” he said as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.  
  
As an afterthought—  
  
“Please don’t blow anything up!”  
  
  
  
The first thing Matt spotted as he walked out was the empty chair and he tried to ignore the sinking feeling. He continued to towel his hair dry and peered into the empty mug (which helped lift his temperament slightly) and finished off the remainder of his own drink.  
  
He drew back the separation to his makeshift bedroom and stopped short at the foot of his bed.  
  
For a brief moment he thought the Boss was suggesting certain activities (and didn’t _that_ thought send an alarm straight down his body.) With a closer look, he noticed the Boss had his eyes closed, arm propped underneath the pillow and was breathing slowly. Matt held his own breath as he tiptoed around the bed, staring in wonder at the Boss who was so … calm.  
  
He sometimes forgot how human the Boss was, what with the way he was constantly on the move and wreaking havoc. Even when he wasn’t a whirlwind of chaos and the absolute definition of disaster, his aura emitted vibes of restlessness, fingers itching to grab a gun, or if not a gun then a neck of some poor unsuspecting individual.  
  
Seeing him still made Matt realise that he needed the rest just like everyone else.  
  
“Gonna stand there all night?” the Boss muttered sleepily.  
  
Matt’s gaze darted to the Boss, whose eyes were still closed and whose chest heaved and steadied to an even pace. There was barely enough space for him to fit without some part of his body pressing against the Boss, but the sheets, they looked so inviting … perhaps he could squeeze in without causing too much trouble.  
  
He inhaled deeply and held his breath again as the bed sank under his weight, constantly monitoring the Boss for a reaction. There was nothing, and gingerly he lay down on top of the sheets, not even daring to go under the covers. Inch by inch he lowered his head until he was finally relaxing into the pillow.  
  
The last thing he noted before sleep latched on was the warmth radiating from the Boss.  
  
*  
  
Matt woke to his phone buzzing beside his head. He blindly pressed the screen several times and answered, turning up the volume.  
  
“’lo?”  
  
“Miller.”  
  
“What do you _want_?” he groaned, burying his head under the pillow. It was far too early to hear Kinzie’s voice and there should be a law made against her ringing twice within a span of twenty-four hours at least.  
  
“We have all come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, adorable underneath all that goth-emo-neo-cyberpunk-whatever you try and pull off.”  
  
He came out from under his hiding place and pried his eyes open. A message popped up on the screen and he fumbled his way through, staring blankly at the attached picture. Suddenly he felt all colour drain out of his face, only to re-fill with heat.  
  
He was staring at a photo of himself straight out of the shower, his hair a damp wavy mess, his features peaceful and looking especially young and vulnerable without all the eyeliner and lipstick.  
  
“Where did you—”  
  
The peachy blot in the corner revealed the culprit. He turned to find himself alone.  
  
“Not the best picture, we know, but you have to admit it’s not that terrible considering who took it. He’s heading back to the States now on his private jet and he’s sorry he couldn’t see your face when you woke up.”  
  
“I am going to send Asha after you,” Matt spat, untangling himself from the sheets.  
  
“It was actually Asha who sent it to us. And to everyone at MI6. It might be up on the Internet. I thought MI6 was supposed to be good at keeping secrets, first she gives up your address for an embarrassing photograph, next she’s sending it to the rest of the world.”  
  
Matt fell back onto the bed groaning and resorted to hiding under the pillow again.    
  
“The Boss also said something about your desk, it was hard to hear with—”  
  
Matt threw himself out of bed, lunging over wires as sheets trailed behind, checking for damage done to his precious computers. Nothing was amiss, everything was perfectly normal and his heart rate eased into its usual beat.  
  
Almost. His eyes stopped at a space usually left beside the keyboard for a drink, now occupied by a full mug. He stared at it for a long time.  
  
  
  
The tea was tepid and not quite the strength he preferred after waking but he smiled into his drink anyway.  
  
*  
  
Several thousand feet in the air and the Boss’ pocket vibrated. He pulled out his new phone to swear his way through the buttons until he finally opened the message. He snorted, grinning at the screen.  
  
_Could be better._  
  
  
 


End file.
